


Conquering Demons

by PepperF



Category: Community (TV), Deliver Us From Evil (2014)
Genre: AU, Crossover, F/M, I do not need to invent new ships for myself, WTF, brain why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looked slowly from the woman (five-two, five-three at the outside, and if she weighed more than 100 pounds he'd eat his favorite Alice in Chains shirt) to Sergeant Nagle. "Sarge, all due respect, but I don't need a chew toy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conquering Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to Bethany for the beta and all the brilliant ideas that made this a much better fic!
> 
> Oh hey, I've just doubled the number of _Deliver Us From Evil_ fics on AO3. I recommend the other one, [Eleison](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2620931) by [lapetitesinge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lapetitesinge/pseuds/lapetitesinge), it's a really good exploration of what happens to Santino after his exorcism.
> 
> Also please note this is an AU of the movie, one in which Butler didn't die. I've given him the first name Dan, because Sarchie named his baby Danielle, so I figured there was a decent chance he named her after his dead partner.
> 
> Annie is Annie because I haven't seen any of Alison Brie's other movies/TV shows. And because I can.

Dan Butler didn't believe in demons. No, not even after that thing with the psycho last year that had lost him a good partner. (To retirement, okay, and it made sense because if Sarchie was worrying about getting home alive to his wife and kids, he'd end up being a liability out on the street, and nobody wanted to see a twenty-year career in the NYPD end badly. But still, Sarchie had been the best partner he'd ever had – not for his sense of humor, something else Dan was pretty sure didn't exist, but because his infallible radar for trouble led them to take all the worst calls, meaning Dan got to kick ass on a regular basis.) He'd been on his own since Sarchie quit, helping out on other people's cases and working those on his own that didn't require backup – but he'd been looking forward to being assigned a new partner, someone who'd have his back, so they could go out and find some _really_ sticky situations.

Well, he'd been looking forward to it until just now.

He looked slowly from the woman (five-two, five-three at the outside, and if she weighed more than 100 pounds he'd eat his favorite Alice in Chains shirt) to Sergeant Nagle. "Sarge, all due respect, but I don't need a chew toy."

There was a snigger from the desk set behind him, where Hamm and Nelson sat watching the scene play out. "Did it sound like a request, lieutenant?" asked Nagle, heavily, and walked away.

"Say 'yes' and 'thank you, sir'," suggested Hamm, sniggering.

Dan pursed his lips. "Isn't this the new caring, sharing NYPD where people can constructively give feedback before changes are made to their jobs?" he called after Nagle.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. "Funny, I thought it was the new caring, sharing NYPD where we don't discriminate based on gender," she retorted.

Dan turned to her. "This isn't about you being a woman – my dream partner is Rosa Diaz, ask anyone. This is about you being Tinkerbell."

"I can hold my own in a fight," she replied. "It's not about size."

"It is when you're trying to subdue a 300-pound meth head, princess."

"No, it really isn't," she said, calmly. "And if you keep relying on being the biggest and strongest, you're gonna wind up in the hospital."

He kept his face carefully neutral – but of course the peanut gallery had something to say. "Hey Butler, that's some good advice," called Nelson. "Maybe you ought to keep her around? You could learn something."

The woman looked wary, not sure who exactly was being mocked (and Dan wasn't about to tell her that it was him). He gave Nelson the stinkeye, and then turned his back and headed for his desk.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But don't come crying to me every time you chip a nail."

"Oh my GOD," she said, right on his heels. "Really, 'chip a nail'? Did we step back in time to the seventies and nobody told me?"

"Yeah, haven't you heard of gel polish? It dries super hard, and you can get it in all your favorite colors," called Nelson.

Dan dropped into his chair and flipped Nelson off. The woman was smirking. "What was your name again?"

"Annie Edison. Lieutenant," she added, with pride.

Wonderful. Even her name was pretty. This was going to be a fucking disaster. "Welcome to the Four-Six, _Lieutenant_ Edison. Your desk," he said, pointing to the one opposite him.

Edison settled herself into the chair, testing it, and trying to adjust it, without much success. Dan knew without looking that it was the worst chair in the bullpen: anything left unattended for too long would be swapped for someone else's crappier version, and Sarchie had been gone for three months now. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened to your last partner?" she asked. It was a nosy question, but that was cops for you.

"Retired," he said. "Figured he had too much to live for."

She gave him a sharp look, and started going through some of the assorted junk on the desk. "Meaning you don't?"

He shrugged, and gave her a reckless grin to see if she'd flinch, but she just rolled her eyes. "Why did you join SpecOps?"

"Not as a form of passive suicide, if that's what you're asking." She swept most of the stuff into the trash can and opened a drawer, grimacing at whatever she'd found. "I wanted a challenge." She pulled out the drawer and dumped the contents.

He chuckled in mild disbelief. "Special Ops Street Crimes, in the most dangerous square mile in America? Yeah, I'd say that qualifies."

Edison looked up with a tight little grin. "What can I say? When I want something, I go all in."

Dan shook his head. Maybe she was crazy enough to fit in around here, at least, but he still only gave her six months at best. He checked his watch. Time to go. "Okay, well, grab your sparkle wand and hold onto your tiara, _Lieutenant_ Edison, because you're about to experience your first ride-along."

\---

Dan Butler didn't believe in demons, but he did believe that people did some bad shit, and often for no good reason. Furthermore, he knew that sometimes he was one of them, which was why he'd gotten into this line of work after completing his second tour. He loved the adrenaline, the buzz of going into a dangerous, unpredictable, explosive situation. Being in the NYPD kept him on the straight and narrow; they were supposed to stop hitting the perps when they were down. And he was fine with that, he wasn't like some of the guys he'd worked with, all anger management issues and a collection of triggers. Dan didn't have anger management issues. He managed his anger just fine by getting into fights three or four times a week. As far as Dan was concerned, 'getting into trouble on the regular' was part of the job description.

Which was lucky, because his new partner was a trouble magnet. And when her buttons were pressed, she lost control, big time.

"Okay, that was fun, but it's time to go," he said, hauling her bodily out of the back door of the dive bar where they'd been sent to break up a gang fight. He kicked the door shut behind him. "The uniforms are here, those boys are subdued, and we're done. Okay, princess?"

"I told you not to call me that," she snapped as he set her down, but at least she didn't make any attempt to head back inside again. Sometimes, when her blood was up, he almost had to physically hold her down. He was beginning to think that she was less a fairy princess, and more a terrier – the kind who bit down and never let go.

They both leaned up against the wall to catch their breath, and Dan gave Edison a quick once-over. "Your eye looks great, I swear," he said, mockingly. "No one will notice a thing."

She shrugged. It wasn't the first black eye she'd gotten in the three months since she'd started with the 46, and it probably wouldn't be the last. She was a real scrapper. "How's your arm?"

Dan glanced down at the bandage around his right arm. The wound was a couple of days old, but it had bled pretty badly and he'd been told to lay off the knife fights for a while. Like that was ever gonna happen. "Improving. Wanna kiss it better?" He held it out, and Edison rolled her eyes at him. Dan grinned. She hated to be treated like the hot woman she was, so of course he did it as much as possible. He was just naturally an asshole like that.

"Did you see the pinball machine?" she asked.

"Uh, no?"

"Oh, man - you missed it?" Edison launched into a description of someone's attempt to crush her like a bug with an entire arcade machine, and Dan watched her, more interested in the way her entire face lit up with enthusiasm for the violent encounter than in the story itself. It was like something in her came alive in a fight – like the danger and the pain and the adrenaline gave her some kind of crazy high. It was a feeling he recognized. "And then I kicked him in the balls," she concluded, "and he was too busy crying on the floor to object when I cuffed him to the damn thing." She glanced up at him and smirked. "Not quite a 300-pound meth head, but I think that's one more for my tally, right?"

"Drunks are nothing like tweaks," he objected. "It's a totally different style of fuckhead!"

"Aw, come on, Butler—"

"They're much slower. Can't react for shit."

"You're just bitter because I'm totally proving my argument that tactics beat muscles every time, and everyone knows it."

"Look, just because you're trying to pad your score—"

"Pad my—!" She smacked him on the chest before he could react, but he caught her wrist. He grinned down at her, tightening his grip so she couldn't break free.

"What was that about mere physical strength not – ow, fuck!" She'd given his wound a sharp poke, pulling free the moment his grip loosened. He tried to catch both wrists, but she was fast and slippery – well, he was fast, too, and she had no idea how dirty he could play.

There was a flurry of movement as both of them tried to pin the other while evading capture, coming to a stop when they reached an impasse, just short of causing actual harm. They were locked together tightly, panting, in an embrace that only distantly resembled wrestling, and Dan realized that he was staring at her lips. He dragged his eyes up, only to find that she was doing the same. All the breath left his lungs and all thought left his mind, and he leaned forward urgently as she leaned up – and then the door banged open, and she was halfway across the alley before he knew it.

"We're about done in here, lieutenants," said Foster, cheerily. "Any last requests before we pack 'em off to the cells?"

"Uh, no – thanks," Dan managed, staring at his partner. "Edison?"

She turned around, and met his eyes fleetingly before nodding to Foster. "No, I'm fine. Go ahead."

"Sure thing."

The door banged shut again behind Foster, and Dan watched Edison. She drew in a resolute breath, and turned to face him. "It's been quite a night," she said. "And you know, after a fight, I can be a little…" She waved a hand.

"Horny," he supplied, unable to stop his smart mouth. She glared at him, and he managed to keep a straight face. "It's okay, sometimes women just can't control themselves around this much masculinity," he said, gesturing at himself.

"You are such an asshole," she told him, and equilibrium was restored. She flashed him a grin, and then winced. "Oh, starting to feel that," she muttered, putting a hand up to touch her face. And now that he'd cooled down, he was starting to feel his aches and pains, too.

"Come on," said Dan, pushing the door back open. "Let's get outta here before you try to ravish me."

" _Such_ an asshole," she muttered, as she passed him.

Smirking broadly, he followed her.

\---

Dan Butler didn't believe in demons, but he still had nightmares occasionally, ones that woke him, heart pounding, gasping for breath, thinking for a moment that he was back in that fucking stairwell, with that satanic asshole leaning over him, a pick in one hand and death in his creepy fucking eyes.

Next to him, Annie stirred. "Dan? Y'okay?" she mumbled sleepily – and his world jolted and reset.

Realizing he was up on his elbows, he dropped back to the bed with a huff, staring at the ceiling. It was mid-afternoon in the full heat of summer, so even his blackout curtains couldn't completely cut out the light, but for once he was grateful. "I'm okay. Go back to sleep."

"Mmf."

He was pretty sure she was out again straight away, but Dan didn't follow, half afraid that he'd slip into the same dream. He rubbed at the deep scar on his chest, and tried not to remember – but his mind played it back anyway.

 _The lights flickered, threatening to go out and leave him in the dark… his arm throbbed painfully, probably broken, so he could only fumble uselessly with the knife in his hand… the cut on his head was bleeding into his eyes, obstructing his vision… but all that was nothing compared to the_ fear _… the psycho was still advancing slowly, taking his time because he knew Dan was nearly defenseless now… how the fuck was he so fast, so strong? God, Sarchie had got him going too, believing in all that mystical crap! But this was just a man – he had to remember, this was just a man, and he could beat a man… he just needed a wall at his back instead of these damn stairs… a wall at his back, and a second to catch his breath…_

He jumped when Annie's hand covered his. Turning his head quickly, he saw her eyes were open, blinking sleepily in the dim light. Slowly, she threaded their fingers together over the scar, glancing down to study it for a long moment that made his heart stutter nervously. He didn't like to look at it himself. He didn't care about his other scars, but that one was too big, too recent, too close for comfort. He was thinking of getting a tattoo to cover it. Maybe something really dumb or sacrilegious, to show how much he didn't care.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "S'not important." He unhooked his fingers and slid his arm underneath her, pulling her close so he didn't have to meet her eyes – but he felt her finger tracing over the scar, and knew she hadn't let it drop. She was a cop through and through, he reflected ruefully. He should have known better.

In fact, he did know better. He really hadn't meant to end up in bed with her. But a couple of near-miss kisses had turned into some not-missing-at-all kisses, which had turned into some heated groping in an alleyway and the front seat of his truck, which had turned into… this. They weren't dating – they just occasionally slept together. Well, slightly more than 'occasionally', lately – it was getting dangerously close to 'regularly'. But she was seriously hot and good in bed, and she wanted him, so really, it would be criminal not to take advantage of that while it lasted. She didn't stay over, anyhow. Well, not until last night.

Crap.

"You're lucky," she murmured, dragging him from his thoughts. Her finger rubbed over the smooth surface of the scar, and he glanced down incredulously. "To have survived this," she clarified.

Dan grunted. "Sarchie," he explained. "He was right there. Kept me alive until the paramedics came."

Annie gave a little shiver, and moved closer, hand running soothingly over his bare chest. "Remind me to buy him a beer sometime."

"Mm." Dan had done that already – several times. It had actually been kind of awkward when he returned to work after his rehab. He'd even tried to stop being kind of a dick, to show his gratitude, until Sarchie had finally begged him to _stop, okay, just stop being fuckin' nice all the time, I'm worried there's gonna be an explosion of assholes somewhere else just to compensate, okay?_. 

Things had pretty much gone back to normal after that – until Sarchie retired from the force to go be a trainee exorcist or whatever. But then he'd always been a bit funny about religion and shit.

Her hand had circled back to the scar again, as if she was fascinated by it. "So if you don't wanna talk about it," she said, and leaned over him to place a kiss where she'd just been stroking, "what do you wanna do?" Her voice was as silky as the fall of her hair over his chest, and her hand had crept down to explore his abs, and oh, he liked where this was going. "I mean, we're both awake, and we have..." She glanced over at his bedside clock, "five whole hours before we have to be back at work." She licked his nipple, and Dan groaned, reaching for her waist so he could pull her fully on top of him, just where he wanted her. She settled over him, warm and lithe, hands resting on the hollows of his shoulders. "Oh, I see," she purred, moving slowly. "You wanna work out your tension through – mmm – physical expression."

Dan rolled them both quickly, tangling them in his sheets and trapping her under his body, kissing her and pressing her hard into the bed, until she bit her lip and groaned, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. "How about we just don't talk?" he suggested, teeth against her jawline.

"Works for me," she said breathlessly, and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss her again.

\---

Dan Butler didn't believe in demons, or angels, or an Almighty, or any of that mystic mumbo-jumbo bullshit, but right now he was praying.

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…"

It was a constant low chant, aimed at any power that might be listening. The irony was, he'd tackled the big guy this time – it made more sense, practically speaking, and was their usual MO, even if she had long-since proven that she could take down someone like that – while Annie went after the skinny, wiry guy who probably weighed less than her, even, because she was pretty solid muscle and this was a strung-out homeless dude. A strung-out homeless dude who turned out to have a concealed Bowie knife, and the devil's own luck.

 _Apply pressure to the wound._ He pressed down firmly, familiar with the procedure from his own past experiences. Both his hands were slippery with her blood.

"C'mon, c'mon, this stuff is supposed to stay inside you," he muttered at her. As if in response, Annie blinked her eyes slowly open, looking dazed. "Annie? Hey there."

She frowned. " _Hurts_ ," she hissed.

"Yeah, well, that's knife wounds for you." Her eyes began to drift closed again. "Hey! Edison! Stay with me. Eyes open. Where does it hurt?"

She forced her eyes open just to give him a weak version of her usual glare.

"Yeah, yeah – I'm trying to keep you talking. Didn't want to ask anything too brain-taxing, make you feel stupid right now. Or stupider. Jesus, Edison, didn't they teach you to move out the way of sharp objects at the academy?"

"Hit... me," she ordered faintly. He knew what she was asking: even though she'd only just started, she was already studying for the next promotion. She knew it was a long way off, she said, but it was worth laying the groundwork. Besides, she loved to learn. Dan suspected that, once she'd had everything he knew, she'd move on to her next victim, like a knowledge vampire, but she'd refused to answer such a base accusation (which wasn't a 'no'). Anyhow, lately she'd been getting him to quiz her, whenever they had a quiet moment – laws, radio codes, department policies, local geography... anything and everything. Whatever gaps in knowledge she had were being filled with admirable speed and efficiency.

"C'mon, Edison, you're barely conscious, now's not the time to get all—"

"Hit. Me."

Dan sighed. "Okay. Radio code... uh... 10-57."

It took her less than a second. "Where the fuck... is my ambulance? Too easy," she complained.

Yeah, it had been the first one that sprang to mind. Go figure. "Nerd," he said.

Even though her brow was still furrowed with pain, her lips curled up at this. "Good memory," she argued. She'd closed her eyes again, but he decided he'd allow it so long as she kept talking. 

The grey pre-dawn light was exaggerating her fairy-like qualities – flawless skin, huge eyes, sharp bones – and making her look unduly fragile. But he knew that was an illusion. Underneath, she was a badass – quick, intelligent, fierce, and brutally effective in close combat. She was tough – a survivor.

"You know if you ever make sargeant, I'm not gonna salute you," he told her.

"Just because you've got... no ambition... doesn't mean I should... be lazy," she said, gasping a little at the end.

"I have ambition! I just happen to like where I am, is all."

"That's like... the definition... of 'no ambition'."

He glanced up. Was that a siren? The ambulance had to be here soon. Surely it was coming up on five minutes already?

"Dan," she groaned. "Hurts. Oh god."

"Hold on," he told her. "They'll be here soon. Just hold on, okay?" She bucked beneath his hands, trying to escape the pain. "Stay still, dammit, stay still!"

She whined, but fell still, blue eyes blinking open again. "They'll be here soon?"

"Any second," he promised. "Just hang on for me, okay, Annie?"

She nodded, scrunching her eyes closed again. "For you," she agreed. "God, it _hurts_ though. Fuck. Did I get him?"

Dan glanced over to where the perp lay semiconscious and cuffed to a lamp post. She'd done the semiconscious bit, he'd done the cuffs. His own guy had got away, but he wasn't going to worry about that right now. "You got him."

"Good." Her breathing was becoming shallow and labored, but that was _definitely_ a siren he could hear. "Dan?"

"Yeah?" Her hand tugging at his flak jacket recalled his attention. "I'm here."

"Dan," she said, more of a sigh than a word. Her fingers tangled in the mesh of his jacket, gripping tightly, and the thing was, the motherfucking _thing_ was, he didn't dare lean down to kiss her, even for a second, for fear of letting up pressure on her wound.

" _Annie_ ," he said, helplessly. "They're nearly here. Just hold on, okay, sweetheart?"

She nodded, fighting a losing battle to keep her eyes open. "Hold on," she mouthed.

"That's right, hold on. Stay with me, Annie. Okay?"

"Stay," she whispered.

"Yeah, that's right. Stay right here with me. Please, Annie. Just stay with me. Stay here. Stay with me. Stay."

\---

Dan Butler didn't believe in demons, but that wasn't going to stop him from dressing up as one for Halloween.

"Whaddya think?"

"Oh my GOD." Annie threw her book down and got up, walking around him to admire the full effect. "You look amazing. And really hot. And extra tall, somehow. Wait a minute, don't I know this one? It's the demon from that movie with Tom Cruise – _Legend_ , right?"

He shrugged, and adjusted the horns. They were pretty heavy, and had a tendency to fall forward, but they looked awesome. "I was thinking more Satan from South Park, but I'll take it. I've got some yellow contact lenses, too. I just need the red paint," he said, gesturing to his face and bare chest. "I figure I'll get some kiddie paints and—"

"No!" She laughed. "You'll be really uncomfortable, and it'll start to flake off as soon as it dries. Besides, it won't look right – it'll be too matte. I think I have some body paint leftover from a previous Halloween, I'll see if I can dig it out. If not, we'll buy you some. It would be funny to see you stain yourself pink, but I guess as a responsible girlfriend I ought to stop you."

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Thanks, babe."

"You're welcome, oh fiendish one."

 _As a responsible girlfriend._ After she'd gotten out of hospital, Dan had stayed with her for a few days, which became a week, and then two… until finally they stopped pretending that they weren't dating. They'd have to keep it on the down low when she returned to work tomorrow though, because if they were split up and she went out there without him, they were gonna have to put him on benzos. But the overprotective streak would die down eventually, he expected. Well, he hoped.

"I have some black lipstick that you can use, too," she said. She caught his look. "Oh, what, you think you're the only one who's ever gothed it up?"

"Grunge, not goth," he objected. Annie shrugged as if she _actually didn't care_ about the difference. He tutted. "It's like you don't even know me."

"You poor thing, living with me must be terrible," she said absently, as she picked up her book and dropped back onto the bed. Dan wandered over to check out the costume in her full-length mirror. They were having a lazy Sunday, and for once Annie was actually lazing. It was nearly 11am and although they'd had breakfast, she wasn't even dressed yet, which had to be some kind of miracle. He'd begun to think she was incapable of relaxing, even when she was sick or injured, so it was good to see that wasn't true. Not that he was much better. His mom had always said that if she wanted him to sit still, she had to tape him to the couch. So living with Annie was actually kind of perfect.

Not that they were living together – not officially. He tried to remember the last time he'd been home. A week ago? No, two weeks: he'd gone on his day off to pick up his mail and some clothes he wanted, and she'd tagged along and helped him air out his sheets – so to speak. In fact, lately he'd been giving a lot of thought to asking her to move in with him for real. More precisely, he'd been thinking about how her place was pretty roomy, because of course she'd done responsible, grown-up things like setting a budget and visiting prospective properties before settling on a nice two-bedroom house a little further out of town, whereas he still lived in the same tiny, crappy one-bedroom apartment he'd found when he first moved to the Bronx. But he didn't want to pressure her, particularly not while he was still on shaky ground himself, waking at night to make sure she was breathing, that she wasn't lying unconscious in the bed beside him, bleeding out, dying... So for the time being he was holding his tongue.

Besides, she had enough to think about, this weekend. He'd been where she was, returning after an extended sick leave, and although he'd slipped back easily into the work, he could understand why she felt a little nervous. She'd only been there six months before the incident, so she was kind of feeling like she'd be back to being the new kid again, despite his assurances that everyone wanted her back, and his regular bitching about all the day-to-day crap that went on – his own way of keeping her in the loop.

Halloween was at the far end of her first week back. Nagle was having a party, and they'd both been invited, and while they weren't going to arrive together or have matching costumes or any of that shit, he was probably gonna dance with her. And he was _definitely_ gonna have his wicked way with her at the end of the night. And thinking of which...

He glanced over at Annie, curled up in a comfortable nest of pillows and the rumpled duvet – and pounced before she could see him coming. Pinning her, he plucked the book from her hands and flung it aside.

"Hey!" she objected, trying to see if it had fallen safely. "I was reading that!"

He gave a growl, deep in his throat. Her eyes flew to his, widening dramatically, and god, she was _so fucking gorgeous_ that for a moment he forgot the part he was playing. Recalling himself, he leaned down and gently bit her throat, feeling the shiver that went through her. "Have you been a bad girl?" he said, teeth against her skin and voice lower by a few octaves.

She arched against him, hands clutching his sides, but her voice was steady when she replied. "Nuh-uh. I haven't exactly had a chance, recently. _Someone_ has been hovering over me like my own, personal guardian angel."

"Well, maybe if you stopped getting stabbed, someone wouldn't feel the need—"

In a flash, he found himself slamming into the floor beside the bed, with Annie on top of him, their positions reversed. The duvet had got caught up somehow, and come along for the ride, settling over them like marshmallow frosting.

In the cosy cave they'd created, everything about her looked soft and inviting – her warm flannel pajamas, her hair in loose pigtails, her pink lips and sparkling eyes – and for once this didn't come with a pang of concern, because she _had_ survived, and she really _was_ tough (and he _would_ be there to watch her back). She'd be okay – and something inside him settled into place, some deep certainty that he couldn't yet articulate. 

"Sorry, I interrupted you. You were saying?" she asked, with an edge of challenge.

He ran his hands up her thighs, and slid them around her back, pulling her down towards him. "Nothing but 'yes' and 'thank you'," he assured her.


End file.
